Be as weird as 1000xRESIST and we will love you forever
No matter how bad your title is
If today’s issue feels off at all, it’s because I wrote the first draft on my phone while standing in line at GameStop to preorder the Switch 2. While this happened, I had a nonsense all-hands happening from my money-making job, which meant that I was viewing the video in the corner of my phone screen, all the while tapping away as a Charlie-Brown-raincloud-sized patch of sun beat down on me.
I hate the future. Anyway:
If you pay attention to games, you likely heard about my favorite entry last year, 1000xResist, the kind-of visual novel that received heaps of awards while also making everyone cringe at the outrageous, sci-fi-anime-coded name. If you played 1000xResist, you understood the praise, and also mostly forgave the name that makes my dick shrivel up every time I read it. The gameplay is simple but undeniably unique, requiring you to view scenes from the lens of different time periods at the press of a button, while you move your character as if they’re magnetized by rings in the sky. The story is as weird as it is effective, combining an intense premise with beautiful writing and characters so authentic and truthful that they will stay with me for the rest of my life. This game is out-fucking-standing, far and away my favorite from 2024, the year Balatro ruined everyone’s lives. Beyond being just stellar, I love the way Resist shows us all how weirdness in stories can be a benefit instead of a quirk.
1000xResist (I think my dick is inside my body at this point) was a huge success, and the natural question that follows an out-of-nowhere success is: what can we learn from this? Are there any new techniques or conventions we can brazenly steal for our own work, besides having a title that reduces your friend count every time you read it? This is such a specific game that your first impulse might be to respond “no.” The story involves an alien race of giants who introduce a virus, which destroys all of humanity except for one traumatized teenager, and that teen then creates a family of clone daughters that becomes an oppressive religious society one hundred years later. That’s not the plot, it is the premise, and describing it would be a sure-fire way to end a party early. “Oh yeah, sounds neat,” your now-former friend responds, “I think everyone here needs to get away from you and go to the afterparty. Before it, uh, ends.” “Even though it’s only 9pm?” you ask. “…yes. Bye!” This premise does not sound like something you can really learn from unless you’re trying to make the 400th Gundam anime that is probably a deconstruction based in an alternate timeline, where robots pilot humans or whatever. It is specific.
While specificity is at the heart of good storytelling, it is not a cure-all, and can often go off the rails. We’ve all seen super specific stories that bore us to tears. I turn off nearly every anime I’ve ever started once I get a few episodes in and see that the characters will continue to speak as if they’re aliens parading around in human skin. Every game’s trailer tells you the name of its stupid fictional planet we don’t care about. We all tried Westworld. The reason things work out for 1000xResist (urgh) on the other hand, is that the story matches the depth of its weirdness with the depth of the characters.
Whenever you’re handed a bit of jarring exposition, it’s immediately balanced with grounded, moving character work. At one point you will find out that you’re exploring another character’s memories, but don’t worry, those memories focus entirely on the building blocks of that character’s personality. Did you see a paradigm shift in the crazy clone society? Then it’s time to focus entirely on one character’s feelings around a sense of safety. We are constantly kept in lockstep with the state of every character present, never being left in the lurch for the artist’s self-indulgence. Comparisons have been made with Neon Genesis Evangelion, and while that may be true on one or two thematic levels, the real comparison is this insistence of using a crazy backdrop as a chance to explore real characters. The things they feel are so, so understandable that you are riveted by what happens next.
You can be as weird as you want. Just show us how that weirdness affects your characters and we’ll stay with you forever. Even if your title makes my dick leave my body. I have no idea where it is now. I hope it’s happy.
Be Nice
Hotline Miami - You play a small-time hitman who murders what feels like billions of people.
This is considered one of the godfathers of the indie scene, and I finally got around to it for the first time this last week. I completely understand if this is enshrined in your personal hall of fame. The entry here under the Be Nice section is a little facetious, because I don’t have a problem with most of the game, or even the story. The story is good for how minimal it is, and I love that it waits to show its hand until you’re seventy percent of the way through - the move of a madman, and I respect it. The pixel aesthetic is also a great choice, as it makes the outrageous levels of violence more abstract and actually palatable. My actual issue is just that I hate the controls. Absolutely despise them. Why the hell is Attack on the bumper and Lock-On at the trigger? Why is targeting so difficult to do when aiming with a stick is also difficult? I kept screaming when playing this for what felt like the wrong reasons. I had a good time when the game clicked, but Jesus Christ, man. Anyway, brilliant game and I will look for the creators’ other works now.
Oh, Good
Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 - In the style of Atlus-developed linear RPGs, you play a team of sexy, cool renegades who have to stop a dictator from killing anyone as she pleases in a French fantasy world of magic. I was completely enamored with everything I saw in the game’s initial trailer drop last year, and the reviews are off the charts. Hell yeah. Will play this after my next short game.
hope ur dick unshriveled